part 26

Subject: amazing contact

From: MackAttack

To: BoPeep.

Date: 09/22        3:10a.m. PDT

Dear Aimee,

Do you know Diana Morgan-Hughes? I’m sure you must remember her. She certainly knows you. Seems to know all about you.

I’ve met her several times recently for coffee, and other diversions. We talked about how much we hated each other in high school, and she said that lots of people hate her. They think she is constantly passing judgment on their styles and where they fit in society. It’s true, but she also does it to herself.

As I told you before, my tastes have changed. I always thought Diana was good-looking, but now I find her damn attractive. Very physical. She feels it, too, but we haven’t done anything. She’s involved with a man who is quite a bit older. But, heck, since you know her, maybe I shouldn’t tell you about her stuff.



Subject: OMG!

From: MackAttack

To: BoPeep

Date: 10/02        2:15p.m. PDT


She’s pale but she’s raven. Her skin glistens, always rather moist. She’s 5’5″ with big tits and great hips, and my God, how she can fuck. Into some other world with her, another dimension of sulfuric heat — well, it takes two of course, and the chemistry is right. I asked if she would mind if I told you. No, she was pleased for you to know. Morgan-Hughes, you know, she said, “Don’t you get it? Aimee is jerking you around for leaving her.”

She likes my passion. She likes it that I haven’t given up on my dream. And she’s honest about what she is, a very well-compensated mistress for a man who is worth several hundred million. One of his mistresses, actually. She’s not sure how many others there are. She’s on retainer with a written contract. “Executive secretary,” what else?

“You were right to hate me and wrong,” she said. “You thought I was evil, and I am but I’m not.”

I don’t argue with this, Aimee, because I understand her duality. No, I’m not in love with her. There is intoxicating heat and a pleasant kind of understanding. But the rest, well, it doesn’t seem as simple as me not being able to afford her. That’s part of it.

You must remember her. I know you do. The ultimate in-crowd chick back in high school. And everyone simply hated her. She seemed snotty and too good for us all. I heaped it on her like everyone else and thought it all bounced off her invincible ego. It did but it didn’t. It was just a day by day tormenting pain for her to put up with. She says she can’t remember it ever being different for her, not beyond her family who were nice to her. There were no yelling or beatings or weird rapes going on. All of the crap for her was outside with us in school and on the playground. But it didn’t make her out-caste but rather in-caste.

You wanted to hear more of what’s going on for me. Here it is.

Love, Mack



From:   bopeep

To:       Mackattack

Date: 10/02       3:15p.m. PDT

Dear Mack,

How is it? I can write you over and over and you never even say anything to me? I mean, I tell you stuff that I don’t tell anyone, and it’s still like I don’t tell anyone. You don’t notice.

I can’t believe how you are so totally pulled around by the head of your dicklette.

Okay, great. Good for you Mack. Just WHAT am I supposed to say? Wowie Zowie, yippe for you. I think you should have a life, and live it, and get boinked and pounded (her on top) and maybe even get tied up for hours in some Oriental Pretzel Position, without salt. I hope you just friction yourself into a raw, limp piece of filet mignon.

I guess that’s the only thing which has meaning in YOUR life, huh? I know, now you can compose something…about the rockets red glare. Oh yeah, that’s right, THAT’s been done. You know, Mack, seems that everything you do has been done, and in her case, I’m sure by most everyone in town.

But, I tell you about things important to me, and they just zoom over your head like a crop duster. I don’t get it. One minute you are writing me all gushy, sweet letters, the next all you can do is tell me how good you got fucked.

You disgust me sometimes, baby.



Subject: Into the silence, huh?

From: BoPeep

To: MackAttack

Date: 10/04        9:43p.m. PDT


Oh yeah. I know who she is now. Lydia reminded me.

Diana Morgan-Hughes. She was the one who was a total bitch in gym class. Yeah, I’m glad she’s changed, but she’s really a total liar. I’ve known a few guys who she’s dated, a few like a few hundred.

She’s been around, so by now she should be damn good at what she does. Uhhh, you do know that she is a hooker — as in a REAL HOOKER. Did she give YOU the FREE boink-aroo? (Or did you have to break open that penny bank you have?) My brother V knows her. They’re chums.

Uhhh… careful, Mack. She’s not the most honest girl on the planet. (and, you aren’t the smartest boy.)

Love you, in spite of myself,



Subject: ouch

From: MackAttack

To: BoPeep

Date: 10/10      7:30p.m. PDT

Dear Aimee,

Something flew over your head like a crop-duster and defoliated your memory. “Oh, yeah. Diana was the bitch in gym class.” Duhhh! You know her very well. Why are you playing dumb? (Aside from the fact that it comes so easy for you.)

I tell you about her because you asked about my life. What it poetic? That’s not how it is right now: I’m getting my ass blasted through the ceiling of a rich man’s yacht by his extremely expensive professional expert. I wish you could see it. Diana says the boat is worth about $10 million. It’s one of Jerger’s toys and she has free run on it.

Stepping onto it, I felt on foreign soil. Suddenly dull like an ancestor off the boat in New York, awed dumb by the grandeur. Yes, exactly like that. You never get a glimpse of these palaces at the public marinas let alone go within. This is Franklin Jerger’s toy? One of his toys? Okay, what mistake did my ancestor make? It drove him to Karl Marx.

This was in my ancestor and in every immigrant from my old world I’ve ever heard about: “Don’t show how impressed you are. Pretend it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Lying Irish bastards.

What’s wrong with being impressed and showing it? This boat is human art, too, a fabulous work of engineering and interior décor.

I kept reminding myself Diana Morgan-Hughes grew up no richer than I did. But what’s in a name? Her off-the-boat ancestor saw the same thing and was driven to Adam Smith. Her saints were our devils who hated poor people.

The intimidation for me got worse when she told me there are cameras and microphones throughout recording literally everything. But I’m not supposed to think Orwell about it. She said she was almost completely adjusted to having no privacy here.

“Screw you, Big Brother!” she said, laughing, showing her middle-finger to hidden cameras. “Nothing is going to happen, Mack. It’s not a sin.”

Do I wish I was rich? Yeah, it would be nice. I don’t know what you or V thinks she lies about, but I have seen this with my own eyes. I drank his Remy at the salon bar and played his antique Laffargue (it needs a tuning, and I can’t believe this guy would leave it in open salt air). There are framed photographs of himself and Diana together on the Persephone with politicians and entertainers.

You just want to sow doubt in my mind about my entire life, don’t you? It all fits. You asked me over and over if I was crazy, and now you want to tell me everything I do has already been done.

Well, come on now and tell me I am selling out because finally something good is happening for me. Among other things, Diana is an important contact who can get me gigs playing private parties that would like a little classic sideshow. And I’m supposed to tell her that that would be whoring? I don’t think so. I don’t get many breaks, you know.

I’ve really grown to like Morgan-Hughes, and you know what? She likes to be liked. Not loved. Just liked. Yes, she told me about her escort service days. It lasted less than a year before she was moving up in the ranks, as she puts it.

All right. I had to go away from this for a while. I’m back. I don’t hate you. For God sake! I wanted to take you in during your crisis and give you sanctuary. I didn’t want to have Akiko living with me, nor even Diana. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?


PS: I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I almost cried like a baby when I read that I sometimes disgust you . That really hurt.


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